


Volatile Times

by VolxdoSioda



Series: Whumptober 2019 [11]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Traitor!Ignis, Whumptober Day 11: Stitches, assassin!Ignis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 10:02:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21073091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/pseuds/VolxdoSioda
Summary: Ignis defends his territory.





	Volatile Times

“Just what the hell are you playing at?”

It’s hissed under Noctis’ breath while the doctor stitches up the wounds left by the assassins sent to kill him. Ineffective assassins sent to kill him. Assassins that Ignis  _ dealt with,  _ and will  _ continue  _ to deal with. Noctis Lucis Caelum is to be  _ his  _ prey, and it will be by Ignis’ hand alone that he takes his last breath. 

Noctis knows all that, too. Knows how Ignis feels on the subject of this little dance they do, where Ignis smiles and nods and pretends to be the tired old nag dragging Noctis around to do what needs doing. And he knows that nobody else will ever believe him if he chooses to out Ignis - he knows that if he tries, and if he  _ fails,  _ Ignis will slit his throat.

Ignis won’t - hasn’t yet - because their goals align for now. Because the hatred of the Empire trumps all else. But as soon as the Empire is gone?

It will be open season on the boy sitting in the plastic chair beside him, glaring at his knees like they’ve offended him. 

But then, Noctis knows  _ that, _ too.

“So sorry. Did you  _ want  _ me to let them kill you?” Ignis drawls as the final stitch is done, a quick tug and snip of the scissors, a bandage put around the whole mess. Effective, just as Ignis prefers. “I do hope you’ll recall my job is to keep you breathing, Highness.”

Noctis scoffs, but it can be waived off as a fifteen-year-olds dramatics. Ignis smiles charmingly at the nurse, the receptionist, and then at the girl at the pharmacy counter when they get there. Nobody would ever believe that he’s a threat to the crown darling. Not when he feeds Noctis, clothes him, washes him, treats him as delicately as fine china. 

(His foods are laced with enough poison to help build a resistance, his clothing made with fibers made to help stop bullets, his bathing cycles done with Ignis so that nobody can creep in and try their luck while his back is turned.)

“Go right to hell,” Noctis finally mutters as they get in the car to drive back to the Citadel. Noctis stopped sitting in the front when he realized any attempt at escape would be blocked, that Ignis was right there in  _ reaching  _ distance, and could effectively kill him easily. At least in the back seat, Ignis would have to be the one to come to him, and it would give Noctis a chance to run.

(Or so he thinks. He does not realize just how vulnerable a back seat can be. Or how well it hides a body.)

Ignis keeps the friendly smile on his face, but reaches back and condescendingly pats Noctis’ knee once before it’s sharply withdrawn, Noctis recoiling from his touch. 

“You first, darling.”


End file.
